death.
'But there will be those who doubt the totality of the Sith extinction. There will always be whispers that the Sith survive, hints and rumors that somewhere in the galaxy a Dark Lord lives. And if the Jedi ever find proof of our existence, they will be relentless in hunting us down.'
He paused to let the implications of his last statement sink in before continuing. 'We cannot live in isolation, cut off from the rest of the galaxy while cowering in fear. We must work to grow our power; we will need to interact with individuals of many species across many worlds. It is inevitable that some among them will recognize us for what we are, no matter our disguise. Eventually word of our existence will reach the ears of the Jedi.'
Zannah was studying him closely, absorbing every word, seeking enlightenment in the murky logic of the dark side.
'Since we cannot hide the fact of our survival,' Bane continued, 'we must obscure it with half-truths. We must encourage the rumors, spreading them so thick they blind our enemies until they cannot separate myth from reality.'
A glimmer of understanding illuminated Zannah's face. 'A rumor is only as reliable as its source!' she exclaimed.
Bane nodded in satisfaction. 'The survivors will spread the tale, but who will believe the likes of them? Everyone will know they are self-serving mercenaries who fled the final battle to save themselves, then came to loot the camp of their former allies. They will be spit upon as traitors and thieves. Nobody who hears their story will believe it, and the truth will be dismissed as a worthless rumor.
'And if there are any other witnesses to our presence on Ruusan ' Bane added, spinning out the final thread of the convoluted tapestry of deception, 'their accounts are now less likely to be believed. They will be tainted by their similarity to the so-called lies spewing from the mouths of cowardly looters.'
'No use or purpose in their deaths' Zannah muttered, half to herself. She didn't say anything else, seemingly lost in thought as she mulled over all that she had been told.
Bane turned his attention away from his apprentice and focused on the items the looters had gathered in the center of the camp. He was the last of the Sith. If there was anything here of value, then by rights it should belong to him.
Most of what they had collected held no interest for Bane. Some of
Kaan's Brotherhood had hoarded items of immense value, believing that the greed and envy they inspired in others could feed the power of the dark side. The mercenaries had grabbed these trinkets-ornate rings and necklaces fashioned from precious metals and set with glittering stones; ceremonial daggers and knives, their hilts inlaid with gleaming gems; intricately carved masks and small statues of remarkable skill shaped from rare and delicate materials-and thrown them haphazardly in a pile.
Surveying the invaluable treasures that were worthless to his purpose, Bane felt another jolt of pain at the back of his head. In the same instant he saw a figure flicker at the corner of his right eye, then vanish from his field of vision.
He snapped his head around in the direction of the movement, but saw nothing. It hadn't been Zannah; this figure was much taller. He reached out with the Force, but felt only himself and his apprentice within the perimeter of the camp.
'What's the matter?' she asked, noting his sudden unease. 'Is someone coming?'
'It's nothing,' Bane replied. Was it nothing? he wondered. Or is this another side effect of the thought bomb?
Zannah made her way over to where he was standing, her eye drawn by the sun reflecting off the jewelry dumped on the ground. 'What's this?' she asked, stooping to dig out something almost completely buried at the bottom of the pile.
She emerged with a thin, leather-bound manuscript. She turned it over curiously, examining it from all angles until Bane extended his hand. In response, she came dutifully forward and presented him with her find.
He recognized the style of the manuscript. There had been several similar volumes in the library at the Brotherhood's Academy on Kor-riban, though Bane had never seen this particular work before. The volume was thin, a few dozen pages at most, and the cover inscribed with arcane words traced in blood-red ink. Bane recognized the language. He had become familiar with the tongue of the ancient Sith during his studies at the Academy, turning to the wisdom of Masters long dead rather than trusting the fools who sought to instruct him in the tarnished 'New Sith' philosophy of the Brotherhood.
He opened the volume and found that the same bloodred ink had been used to fill the pages with delicate script and elaborate illustrations. As with the words on the cover, the language inside was that of the ancient Sith. However, the margins of each page were filled with handwritten notes in Galactic Basic. He recognized the handwriting as that of Qordis, the former head of the Academy on Korriban and one of the many so-called Sith Lords serving under Kaan. Unlike the rest of the Brotherhood of Darkness, however, Qordis hadn't perished in the thought bomb's blast. He'd actually died several hours earlier when Bane had used the Force to crush the life out of his former teacher.
Why did Qordis bring this manuscript with him to Korriban? Bane wondered. Qordis had always been more concerned with hoarding wealth than studying the ancient texts. He wore only the finest silks and most expensive jewelry; each of the long, cruel fingers on both hands had been adorned with rings of incredible value. Even his tent on Korriban had been decorated with rare woven tapestries and ornate rugs. If he had carried this manuscript with him all the way from the Academy, Bane realized, it must contain knowledge of tremendous value
'What's it say?' Zannah asked, but Bane paid her no attention.
He flipped quickly through the manuscript, skimming both the original text and Qordis's notes. It seemed to be a compilation of the history and teachings of Freedon Nadd, a great Sith Master who had lived over three thousand standard years ago. Bane had read previous accounts of Nadd, but this one had something the other versions lacked: the location of his final resting place!
For many centuries the tomb of Freedon Nadd had been lost, hidden by the Jedi so that the followers of the dark side could not seek to gain guidance or power from the Sith artifacts sealed inside. But on the last page of the manuscript Qordis had made one final note, underlined for emphasis: Seek the tomb on Dxun.
How Qordis had come by this information signified little to Bane; all that mattered was that he now knew the location, too. The war on Ruusan had prevented Qordis from attempting to find Nadd's tomb on Dxun. Now that the war was over, there was nothing to keep Bane from making the journey and claiming Nadd's legacy as his own. But first he had to get off Ruusan.
The all-too-familiar jolt of pain shot through his skull, and once again he caught the flicker of a figure from the corner of his eye. This time the image seemed to sustain itself for nearly a full second. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in the robes of the Sith, it was a figure Bane recognized-Lord Kaan! And then, as before, it vanished,
Is this real? Was it possible that the leader of the Brotherhood of Darkness had, in some form, survived the thought bomb? Was it possible his spirit now haunted the world of his death?
He closed the volume and looked down at Zannah. She gave no indication that she had seen or sensed anything. Just a trick of the mind, Bane thought. It was the only explanation that made sense. Zannah would have felt the manifestation of a dark side spirit so close by, yet she had been oblivious.
The realization brought him an odd mix of relief and concern. When he had seen Kaan looming beside him, Bane had thought for an instant-just an instant-that he had failed in his quest to destroy the Brotherhood. But the affirmation of his mission's success was tempered by the awareness that the thought bomb had done even more damage than he'd first suspected. Hopefully the delusions and agonizing headaches were only temporary.
Zannah was still staring up at him, barely able to contain the flood of questions she had about what he had discovered inside the pages of the treasure she had found. Her expression of expectant curiosity turned to disappointment when he slid the manuscript into the folds of his clothes without offering any explanation. In time Bane would share all his knowledge, present and future, with her. But until he had a chance to explore Nadd's tomb himself, he was reluctant to tell anyone-even his apprentice-of its existence.
'Are you ready to leave this world?' he asked.
'I'm sick of this place,' she answered, a hint of bitterness in her voice. 'Things have gone bad ever since I got here.'
'Your cousins,' Bane asked, remembering a remark she had made earlier about the two boys with whom she had first arrived. 'Do you miss them?'
